The ancient oak in the outpost courtyard towered like a venerable guardian, its gnarled branches sprawling overhead and adorned with swaying lanterns and delicate silver garlands. Its leaves rustled softly, sharing timeless secrets with the wind, as if every flutter carried the whispers of countless ages. Underneath its sprawling shadow, Jingfei and Lorianthel stood hand in hand, their presence embraced by a hushed gathering that encircled them like a held breath in the stillness of the moment.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," declared Vedran, his tone resonating with the same solemn gravity he once used for ordering troop formations. His voice rang clear and commanding across the ancient stones of the courtyard, and for a fleeting heartbeat, the world itself seemed to pause.
Then, as if released from the spell of formality, the elven soldiers erupted in boisterous cheers. A voice rang out, "About time!" while another sent kernels of rice flying as if attempting to knock someone over, and soon a playful skirmish ignited over who would next command the enchanted flute's melody.
Lorianthel leaned in, his voice low and teasing, a soft growl brushing against Jingfei's ear, "Now you're mine." Jingfei returned his affection with a warm smile, murmuring, "Always." Just as their lips met in a kiss, another volley of rice suddenly descended, and with perfect accuracy, one solitary kernel found its mark—striking Lorianthel square in the forehead.
"Precision throw," Vedran muttered with a note of impressed amusement. "Impressive." In that moment, the courtyard metamorphosed from a place of ceremony into one of unbridled celebration. Braziers flared to life, their dancing flames casting lively shadows, while tables bowed under an abundance of roasted wild game, spiced dumplings, glistening fruit jellies, and a whimsical cake that seemed almost sentient—once, it even blinked at a curious guest.
Lively music filled the air, a harmonious blend of flutes and resonant drums, and somewhere amid the revelry, a tipsy elf endeavored to dance with a pair of gleaming spears. Jingfei moved gracefully through the jubilant throng, smiling, nodding, and sharing warm embraces with friends. Yet as the lanterns melted into a celestial tapestry overhead and laughter ricocheted off ancient stone walls, a bittersweet ache stirred in her heart.
She turned ever so slightly, her gaze drifting toward a lonely path beyond the sturdy stone archway—a path that led out into the gentle, rolling hills, now hauntingly empty. Mei-Ling was not there. They had once vowed to walk down life's winding path side by side, back when they were young girls festooned in flower chains and wild dreams, imagining broomsticks as gallant grooms and their family cat as a majestic enchanted beast. Mei-Ling had made a promise to stand beside her, hand in hand. Yet duty had summoned her away—callings of rune stones, far-off realms, and winds that murmured of an inevitable destiny. Jingfei clung to the thought that her absence was not a betrayal but a matter of survival, though the pain lingered all the same.
"I saved you a flower," she murmured softly, her fingertips grazing the delicate bloom tucked behind her ear—the blue blossom a testament to Mei-Ling's favored hue. In that quiet tender moment, Lorianthel found her, his approach gentle as he stepped into her solitude. "You okay?" he asked with genuine concern.
Jingfei offered a small nod, replying, "Just thinking." When he inquired, "Of Mei-Ling?" she gave a soft, wistful smile. "We used to practice this, you know? When we were little—walking together, dreaming up dresses and enchanting tunes. We planned to marry noble warriors and even imagine a quaint tea shop filled with cats."
Raising an amused eyebrow, Lorianthel teased, "I can get you cats."
She laughed, shaking her head, "It's not quite the same."
With a gentle kiss on her hand, he reassured her, "I can wear a dress, if that helps."
"Oh please, don't," she replied, her tone playful yet tender.
"She'll be back. When it matters most," he promised as they turned back to observe the unfolding festivities. "They'll come back, with stories and probably some battle scars," Lorianthel added lightly.
"I'm counting on it," Jingfei said with a mixture of hope and longing.
Just then, the enchanted cake, in another bout of whimsical animation, attempted another escape from its table, only to be swiftly reined in by Vedran's playful yet precise sword-poke. Beneath the ancient oak, the bride and groom watched the chaotic merriment with fond exasperation. It wasn't the wedding of pristine fantasies from her childhood; it was untamed, messy, and all the more beautiful.
Somewhere—across vast mountains, swirling mists, and the corridors of memory—she sensed that Mei-Ling must be thinking of her too.
****
The horns blared out sharply—a burst of bright, silver notes that sliced through the twilight like gleaming blades. Every eye turned toward the outer gate as three riders thundered into the courtyard, their cloaks snapping sharply against the wind, and their armor sparkling beneath the gleam of lantern light.
At the forefront rode Aelric, regal yet distinctly weathered by time, with his banner billowing behind him like a living flame. Hattori accompanied him on the left, a silent figure clad in polished obsidian armor that seemed to drink in every shadow. To the right, Honzo grinned mischievously, playfully blowing kisses at a cluster of startled elven soldiers. The arrival was met by an eruption of cheers.
Lorianthel, caught up in the excitement, broke into a joyful sprint, his ceremonial robes fluttering in disarray. "You're late!" he exclaimed.
With a roguish smirk, Aelric dismounted gracefully. "Apologies," he said in a tone blending regal airs with humor. "I was caught up in kingly affairs—scepter meetings, perusing ancient scrolls, and engaging in lively debates with old men sporting overly tall hats. You know the drill."
"You missed the cake fighting back," Lorianthel chided with a playful roll of his eyes.
"I'm already grieving," Aelric quipped.
Jingfei stepped forward with a fluid grace and offered Aelric a delicate curtsy. "You're just in time. Come, join us for a drink." Aelric returned the bow with a nod, his usual solemn exterior softening as he clapped Lorianthel on the shoulder and pulled him into a brisk, affectionate hug.
"My congratulations," Aelric said warmly. "I wouldn't have missed my best commander's wedding for the world."
Lorianthel chuckled, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "I wasn't sure you'd return so soon."
"I almost didn't," admitted Aelric, his tone light. "But then I remembered the alternative—how absolutely insufferable you'd be if I did not show up." Their shared laughter mingled with the festive air, and before long, Aelric cradled a drink in one hand as he settled beside the glowing fire. Hattori remained a silent sentinel nearby, his expression as enigmatic as ever, while Honzo had vanished—no doubt in search of another round of wine.
For a moment, tranquility reigned: laughter, tender reunions, and old friendships rekindled beneath the gentle glow of firelight and starlit skies. Yet as night deepened, Aelric wandered away to converse with Vedran, who stood quietly under the ancient oak, savoring a heavy clay cup filled with a mysterious brew reminiscent of tree bark and wistful regret.
"Vedran," Aelric spoke softly, his voice heavy with unspoken concern.
Vedran turned, nodding once in deference. "Your Majesty," he acknowledged.
"You once confided in me that you were not of this world," Aelric said, his tone imbued with wonder. "That you came from somewhere beyond our reach, that there exists something... more. Do you remember?"
"I do," Vedran replied gently, setting his cup down with deliberate care.
Aelric exhaled slowly. "Then tell me... do you know how I can find Mei...?"
Vedran's brow furrowed in thought. "Mei-Ling."
Aelric offered no further words; the weight of his unspoken yearning was clear. The old wizard turned his gaze toward the flames, letting silence hang in the cooling air before nodding. "There are scrolls—ancient texts from before the founding of the Second Order. They speak of soul-bound crossings, starlit paths, and mirrors of the spirit."
"Do you have them?" Aelric inquired, his hope rekindling.
"They lie concealed beneath the Sanctuary Vaults," Vedran explained, his voice low. "It will demand time, an absolute silence, and a generous measure of wine."
Aelric smiled faintly. "You'll have all three."
From behind them, Honzo reemerged carrying two bottles of a glowing liquid, his timing impeccable yet again. "Never mind," Aelric muttered with a slight chuckle, "you'll have two."
With that quip hanging in the air, Aelric turned back to the dancing fire, his heart kindled by both the celebratory spirit and a profound hope. Mei-Ling was out there, hidden among distant horizons and whispered legends.
And he would find her.